


Remember

by Queenie_Mab



Series: Solangelo One-shots [12]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Nobility, Past Character Death, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Mab/pseuds/Queenie_Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Nico has buried his painful past, and life just plain sucks. After a handsome young knight turns up uninvited, he realizes he must face his past if he's going to have any sort of future</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoodedwordsmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoodedwordsmith/gifts).



> This is a gift!fic for [Hoodedwordsmith](http://hoodedwordsmith.tumblr.com/), one of my tumblr mutuals. 
> 
> I'm not well versed at all in AU, but tried my best to fill your prompt. I failed at the power dynamic aspect, but I do hope you will enjoy it all the same. I enjoyed the challenge. 
> 
> Thanks to [nicosshadows](http://nicosshadows.tumblr.com/) for pre-reading for me and helping me brainstorm.

~*~

  


Prince Nico gazes down from his bedroom window as the rain batters the practice field and turns his only outlet into a swamp. He scowls at the idea it will likely take a week of good weather to dry it out again and by then, he'll have died from sheer boredom. 

He pictures himself, forgotten in the window seat, slowly decaying until he's only a skeleton before anybody notices he's missing. 

He tells himself he doesn't care, tries to think of the guilt his father would feel after he realized what had happened, and then he tries to think of something else before he starts getting weepy. The truth, he realizes, is that his father would probably just sweep his whole existence under the rug, never mention him again, and really, who is there that would even care to ask? 

_That's my fault,_ the small voice in the back of his mind says. Intrusive thoughts, they call it. He'd learned the term when he was bored and looked the phenomenon up. _I pushed them all away. That's why he stopped bringing people around. That's why he doesn't care. What sort of a king would want a son who refuses to socialize. All I have is swordplay and now, I don't even have that._

He leans the back of his head against the stone masonry. It is true, he thinks. Over the years his father had taken an interest in making sure he was looked after. Nico had governesses, and fighting instructors. Sometimes they'd bring their own children along for him to play with, but always, as soon as he got attached, they'd leave. It wasn't ever on good terms. His father would fire them when he'd discover they have connections to somebody he didn't approve of. One ran off and eloped with a knight; another joined a convent; another, his favorite, died while traveling to see him. Bianca had only been on the road that night because of him, had only gone away for the purpose of bringing him a special gift, a hard-to-find mythological figurine from a neighboring kingdom. He'd destroyed his entire collection when he heard she was gone, and then refused any and all attempts to replace her. 

He didn't need or want a tutor. He was proficient enough to learn on his own from books, and there's probably a million of them in the castle library. He'd refused all offers to train with a sword master. Instead, he trained himself on the field with the knights, disguised as a page boy, and without his father's knowledge. 

His pulse races, his skin heating up when he realizes he's back at square one. There's no way he'll be able to resume the duplicity after being away for as long as it takes the field to dry. He wonders what would happen if _he_ ran off and tried to get a page position in another kingdom. 

"Prince Nico?"

Nico smacks his head against the wall as a voice startles him. He misjudges the edge of the window seat and falls, landing hard on his side, a sharp pain shooting up the length of his sword arm.

He roars, clutching his injured wrist to his chest as he jumps to his feet, then whips around to glare at the intruder. He blinks. Crap, he knows this person, sort of, by sight anyway. He's one of the newly knighted members of the court. Maybe if he …

Nico's mind spins, dislodging his thoughts as the man crosses the room in practically two steps and takes his arm, his forehead creased with concern. His overgrown curly hair is so golden blond, Nico almost wonders if it might actually be gilded. It takes him a moment to catch up with what the man is saying to him.

"I didn't realize you hadn't heard me knock. I'm so sorry, Prince Nico." He turns Nico's hand over with his palm, supporting Nico's arm with his other hand. "Can you move your fingers?" 

The man stares at his injured arm with such focus, Nico almost wonders if he isn't a healer. But that's ridiculous. What knight would study a subject beneath his title? Nico squashes the inner voice that reminds him that that is precisely what Nico prefers to do himself.

He huffs a breath through his nose. No. He's not going to be interested in this person. He will _not_ encourage conversation. He'll do whatever it takes to get the man to go away, and to know he's not welcome back again. 

Nico wiggles his fingers. 

"Good," the man croons, his voice sending sparks of heat shooting down Nico's spine. "Now, I'm going to push your wrist back. Tell me as soon as it starts to hurt. I'll stop. Okay?"

Nico furrows his eyebrows and jerks his head in a sharp nod. "There!" he gasps, his eyes stinging against his will. 

The man nods gravely and shifts, so he's supporting Nico's arm draped along the length of his own, then reaches into a small pouch at his hip and pulls out a bandage. He starts binding Nico's wrist. 

Too gobsmacked to put up resistance, Nico just watches, listening as the man recites instructions at him: something about not using his hand to lift until the pain recedes, to limit the weight he does lift for a time after that, to wear it bound to his chest for the first couple of days so he isn't tempted to use it accidentally. 

The man has a pleasant-sounding voice. The way he talks to Nico, so familiar, so kind, and plain unassuming is a novel experience. Nico's surprised he hasn't already lashed out and sent the man running for the hills. He stifles a chuckle when he realizes it's because the aura this man carries reminds Nico of a young housecat; it would be cruel to scare him. 

"That should do it," the man says at last, and releases his hold on Nico. Nico's injured arm hangs in a sling across his chest and he doesn't feel any pain. "What's so funny?"

Nico clears his throat. "Nothing," he says, then shivers. He's cold now that the man isn't touching him. He hasn't noticed a chill in ages. He frowns. It is this man's fault Nico was injured in the first place. He really ought to set about telling him off for it, but stops himself as the voice in his mind reminds him the man apologized profusely, and then tended the injury. Deciding to overlook the slight to his physical wellness, Nico calls up his agitation to use any other means to send the man away. "Who are you anyway? Why did you come to my room uninvited?"

The man frowns, looking a little hurt. 

Nico has to force himself to not let up on his attitude because of that. He's not so easy to manipulate. 

"I'm Will Solace," the man says, pressing on. "I thought you might recognize me from the sparring field."

 _Shit!_ Nico doesn't blink an eye as he rejects the notion. 

"I am not involved with training new knights. I'm afraid you are mistaken."

The look of disbelief that crosses Solace's face fuels Nico's desire to send him off. 

"Impossible," Solace says, a cocky half-smile replacing his frown. "I'd recognize you if you dressed in a monk's habit and attempted to blend in on the village streets, or even if you covered your hair with a net and donned a maiden's clothes and apron in order to move freely about the kitchens." 

Nico freezes where he stands, still as a statue. He's never told a living soul about his habit of going where he pleases, donning any and all manner of disguise in order to pull it off, and yet, Solace just named two exact circumstances where Nico had done just that. His nostrils flare at the sight of merriment twinkling in Solace's impossibly blue eyes. His hand twitches in his sling, itching to break free and draw his sword, which is not currently on his person. 

"Did my father hire you for this? To follow me around, spying on my activities? Who set you up to it?" He seethes with an icy rage, his eyes, he's sure, going dark and penetrating in the fashion he uses to intimidate people into backing off. 

Solace holds his hands up, palms forward, and shakes his head. His eyebrows lift so his eyes appear round and innocent. "No. I swear that nobody has put me up to anything, and I'm not spying on you on purpose. I'm not following you around or anything like that."

Nico narrows his eyes, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Why are you here?" he demands instead. He'd stomp his foot and rage and scream if Solace was anything like the other people who have tried and failed to pull Nico out of his isolation in the past. But something about him tells Nico he'd waste his energy doing that with Solace, that the man would find a way to turn him around and upside down until he was laughing instead of raging were he to try it. 

Solace hums for a moment as if he's carefully choosing his words, then turns and holds out his arm, hooked at the elbow. "Walk with me. I'll tell you."

How is he supposed to respond to that? This non-aggressive, casual excuse to be touched by that warm arm again. 

Which is how Nico finds himself walking the dark and imposing corridors of his father's castle, the rain battering the windows, and feeling, on the inside, as if spring has just arrived.

~*~

  


"There aren't many people around," Solace observes as they hit the end of the West corridor. They turn and start walking the south. 

"Yeah," Nico says. His throat feels rusty. He hasn't talked so much in a month as he has in the past hour walking with Solace. He swallows. "After my mother died, he, my father, just … sent most of the staff away. He said he wanted to minimize the pressures on his time."

Saying that, confessing such a personal piece of his past …Nico stops walking. He realizes he's still holding on to Solace's arm and lets it go, then steps back a pace. He stares at Solace's face, wondering what kind of magic the man is working. Solace's expression falls and he looks down at the arm Nico released. Nico's instinct is to grab onto it again, to apologize for letting go. This urge is _not_ like him. 

Then Solace looks back up and Nico meets his eyes. They're alone in this wing. It's been closed off forever, but that's never stopped Nico from roaming it whenever he feels like it. The look in Solace's eyes, the gaze he fixes Nico with sends shivers running up and down Nico's whole body, almost like a ghost had wafted through him. The silence thrums around them until it's almost noisy: intense. 

"I never answered your question," Solace murmurs. His voice warms Nico up again, the soft resonance. 

"What question?" Nico asks, not sure they're even having the same conversation. It's been so long since he's talked to somebody. It feels like ages. And really, he didn't realize how starved for attention he had been. He never knew how much he needed it. But just standing here, looking at each other, almost as if they're both afraid to look away because the moment will end. 

"Why I knew about your disguises. Why I came to your room."

The moment screeches to a halt, reality reengaging. But Nico doesn't have it in him to dredge up the indignation from earlier. Indignation, boredom, loneliness … all of it drains his energy and saps his strength. He's still buzzing on the high he'd gained from not thinking about it. 

Nico glances up and down the long corridor. He's freezing. He looks back at Solace, dwelling momentarily on the man's name before shaking the thought off. He'll ponder it later. 

He steps back in line with Solace and slips his free arm into place, linked with Solace's arm. "It's cold. Let's go back and warm up. You can tell me then."

Solace nods. His lips quiver. He's smiling, but it almost looks like he's trying to not break into a grin. 

Nico's lips do the same thing.

~*~

  


After they get back to Nico's room, Solace stokes the fire and Nico sits at the small table before the hearth, where he takes his meals. He stares at the curve of Solace's back. Lower down, his cheeks grow hot at the sight of Solace's trousers stretched taut over his ass while he balances on the balls of his feet. 

The little voice inside Nico's head, the judgement voice is strangely silent and Nico doesn't worry about where it went. It can stay gone for all he cares. Solace has an attractive ass, and when it's right there before him, Nico decides he can look if he wants to. 

When Solace stands up and turns around, Nico finally looks away. As he focuses on the tabletop, Solace pulls the chair on the opposite side. There are only two chairs for dining in his room; he's only ever used the one he's sitting in. And then Solace throws him off a little bit more, sending his heart into a weird sort of drum beat. He moves the chair and sits in it on Nico's left side, his face to the fire. He places his hand beside Nico's on the table, not touching, but close enough Nico feels the hair on his arm stand up. 

Nico's stomach growls. It's loud. His cheeks heat up all over again. 

Solace offers him a shifty smile, one eyebrow raised. "When's the last time you ate? I can run and fetch something from the kitchen if you'd like."

Where does this guy even come from? Nico wonders. He huffs a short laugh and shakes his head. "It's fine. I'll ring for them to bring something up. Do you …" Gods, he sucks at this … Some prince he makes, stuttering over a simple question. _Oh, lovely. The judgement voice is back._ He closes his eyes a moment and makes a deliberate effort to push it back down. Then he looks back at Solace from under his overgrown bangs. "Do you want to eat … uh, with me?"

Solace flashes him a bright smile and rubs the back of his neck absently. Nico wonders if it's possible Solace is actually nervous too. "I'd like that."

Great. Now Nico has something to focus on, other than trying not to get lost in Solace's eyes: a guy he really doesn't know anything about, a _guy_. It's probably best not to assume anything, and to not reveal more than he can handle. Nico stands up. "Just give me a sec." He crosses the room to a row of iron knobs labeled with functions of the castle. He pulls the knob that reads **kitchen** twice, then returns to the table. 

"So," Nico says, taking his seat. "Want to get this out of the way? Your answers? They'll be bringing two trays, so it's probably best I don't have a knife handy if what you're going to say will set me off."

Solace busts out laughing, his cheeks pink with mirth. It makes freckles Nico hadn't noticed before stand out. He raises an eyebrow and waits for Solace to get a handle on himself. "Sorry," Solace says, then clears his throat. "I like your sense of humor."

Nico only smirks, thinking wryly to himself that he didn't say it to be funny. 

"Yes," Solace says at last. "I am ready." Then he stops talking and a hush falls over the table. The fire continues to crackle behind them so the quiet doesn't really get uncomfortable. It just _is_. A long couple of moments later, he starts up again. "Thing is, this might sound a little crazy. Will you hear me out? Please? To the end?"

Nico narrows his eyes. The whole conversation feels a lot shadier than he would like, but at least he's not bored. He nods, and then waits for Solace to continue. 

"Okay," Solace says, breathing out. "I've met you before. A long time ago. Uh, we didn't part company on good terms."

Nico nods again, wracking his brains to recall meeting this guy before. Not on good parting terms is something Nico is well versed in. It doesn't help jog his memory. Solace goes on. 

"Anyway, when I turned nineteen, I decided I was finally old enough to make my own decisions, you know? To leave my father's house and, sort of test my metal. I heard your father was taking on a few new Knights and, really, I wanted to see you again. Wanted to explain that … Gods. Why is this so hard?" He stops talking again and pulls another bandage strip out of his hip pouch, then fiddles with it on the tabletop. 

Nico holds up his left hand, listening. "Wait a moment. I think the food's here."

Solace nods and exhales loudly as if relieved to be able to pause. 

Nico answers the door, pausing for a full half a minute after hearing the waitstaff knock. The page who delivers his meals has already left. Nico has the entire staff trained well. He frowns at the thought, and then shakes it off and pushes the dinner cart in with his free hand.

Solace jumps up to help when he sees Nico struggle, and then rolls the cart over to the table. "Do you want me to finish explaining before we start, or to finish while we eat?"

Nico spots his plea to procrastinate from a mile away, but he's not going to let it go this time. "While we eat," he says. "Can I ask you to move the trays?" he flaps his bound elbow and Solace sighs, then nods. 

After they're set up with bowls of hot stew, a loaf of bread, and Solace pours wine into each of their goblets, Nico catches sight of the bandage Solace had been playing with dangling from his hip. He points at it with his chin, then stirs his stew with his spoon. "You trained in healing?"

Solace looks down and hastily stuffs the bandage back into his pouch, then takes his seat. "Yeah. It's kind of my dad's deal. Well, not only healing … He has this philosophy of living a well rounded life. I had lessons in _everything_ growing up. Hardly any time to myself at all."

Solace doesn't sound thrilled by his father's philosophy. Nico half wonders what it would be like if his father had tried to do something like that. He'd probably hate it too, but he's not really very happy having had little to no structure either. "You were talking about knowing me before, being pretty vague about it," Nico reminds him. He takes a mouthful of his stew. It warms him instantly and he's suddenly very aware of just how hungry he is. "Said you wanted to explain something…"

"Yeah," Solace says. "I kinda hoped … I dunno. That my vague hints would have jogged your memory. But I can do it. It'll be fine." He stirs his own stew absently, while Nico wolfs his down. 

Finished, Nico takes a long draught from his goblet and feels satisfied. Food tastes good when he bothers to notice. He makes a mental note to do that more often. 

"Look, Nico," Solace says, then surprises Nico by taking his hand. Solace's palm is warm and and really, rather perfect. The wine and the food, the touch and the company, the heat of the fire – Nico smiles at Solace, his eyes half-lidded. He likes the way his name sounds in Solace's voice. "We kind of … had a … a thing together. We were really young, like, twelve? I was only here for a few weeks, but …"

And memories start coming back. Really awesome ones. Whispered conversations in the dark, side by side on sleeping pallets meant for travel; swimming in the river, and then sunning themselves on a huge boulder; ending up sunburned and taking turns slathering each other with Aloe, and then … Nico flushes. "Will?" 

Will Solace. Nico had never bothered to learn his last name. That was the summer before Bianca … before a lot dark times. Will's hand on his seems to heat up, and Nico has the urge to move even closer. They hadn't parted on good terms because Nico's governess caught them kissing behind the stables. She'd raised a ruckus and separated them, then sent Nico's father into a flying rage when the entire staff was talking about it. He'd fired them all and replaced them with immigrants. Will was sent away and Nico had never understood why, and the couple of friends he'd had were children of the staff. Bianca was the only new person Nico connected with, and in an effort to cheer him up, she'd died in an accident.

He'd pretty much buried the whole thing and chosen not to think about it, decided not feel anymore. Feelings hurt too much. 

"I wanted to tell you that it counted to me. We'd talked about kissing, how only grown ups do it when they get married …"

"And I asked if that meant it didn't count if two boys did it." Nico flushes again at his childish attempt to get his best friend to kiss him. But Will had, and …

"Yeah. We never settled that. I want to settle it now … It counted to me."

Nico's whole body feels floppy, like he's melting, like his bones are made of butter. Without realizing it, he leans in toward Will, drawn to him like a magnet, and somehow Will does the same. 

They pause, faces and lips an inch apart. Nico's eyelids fall heavily as he breathes in Will's breath on his cheeks. It meant something to him too, and he lets Will know by closing the distance and pressing their lips together. 

There's possibility in Will's kisses, in his returned fervor. 

As for what happens next, Nico decides he'll let the cards fall where they will and can't wait to find out how they do.  


The End


End file.
